


Taking over a University for Fun, Revenge and Profit

by United



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Actually all the canon but nitpicked at my own discretion, Canon - Book, Canon - Video Game, Ciri will literally murder you if you touch any of her dads, Conspiracy, Domestic Fluff, Empress Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Friends to Lovers, I'm Bad At Tagging, Insecure Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Merged Netflix and Video Game Canon, Minor Ciri/Cerys an Craite, Minor Morvran Voorhis/OC, Minor Tissaia de Vries/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Multi, Netflix Canon, Original Character(s), Past Jaskier | Dandelion/Valdo Marx, Politics, Professor Jaskier | Dandelion, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Slow Burn, Slowly and Methodically Curb-Stomping Valdo Marx, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, The Singular Communal Braincell, The Witcher Netflix Series Spoilers, Tissaia de Vries deserved better, Vesemir lives and you can pry him from my cold dead hands, idiots to lovers, no beta we die like stegobor fucking should have
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:00:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24826447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/United/pseuds/United
Summary: Spending the winter with Geralt on Corvo Bianco, Jaskier receives an invitation to teach a semester at Oxenfurt. That’s awesome.It’s signed by none other than Valdo Marx. That’s less awesome.If not to say complete fucking bullshit.Turns out he was running from a very messy breakup when he met Geralt in Posada and it’s now catching up with him, thirty years later./“Jaskier, could you open the window?” Geralt asks while staring at Valdo like he’s a particularly disgusting kikimora and he’s going to rid the world of it any minute now.(That’s saying something, even a comparatively pretty kikimora is ugly as sin.)Jaskier has no idea where this is going, but he can’t wait to find out.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 44
Kudos: 273





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you don't know who the fuck Emhyr var Emreis is and you don't want to ruin one of the best plot twists in the history of ever, I suggest you read no further.

It is five past six in the goddamn morning and Jaskier is throwing knives on the patio of Corvo Bianco. It’s not yet March, it’s only just dawning and Jaskier hardly leaves his room before noon unless threatened with bodily harm.

Something is _very_ wrong.

Geralt curses his good hearing, mournfully wishes another hour of sleep farewell and rolls out of bed. Bundled in two layers of cotton and another layer of furs it’s still cold as balls outside. Toussaint is certainly milder than Kaer Morhen ever was, but it’s still the middle of winter. Jaskier doesn’t seem to care. He’s wrapped in his heavy, silken dressing gown and not much else. 

(Ciri loves throwing the contents of the seemingly bottomless Var Emreis coffers at presents for Jaskier and Geralt and Yen and really everyone that is not herself or Emhyr.)

Thankfully it hasn’t snowed since they last shoveled the courtyard or the slippers Jaskier is wearing would do even less to protect his feet from the cold. Geralt steps up behind him, letting his steps crunch loudly on the gravel, and gently corrects Jaskier’s form. Jaskier allows it. 

Then he hurls the knife at his target with an accuracy that never fails to bring a cheerful smile to Geralt’s face.

The practice dummy has a piece of paper pinned to his chest. If Jaskier keeps going like this they’ll have confetti in no time. He keeps throwing until he runs out of knives, marches up to the dummy with carefully contained rage in every motion, rips the knives out of the straw-stuffed torso with decidedly more force than necessary, marches back to Geralt without making eye-contact and starts throwing a new.

He repeats this twice over until Jaskier throws the last knife with enough force to knock the tattered dummy over. He stills for a moment and finally sags against Geralt’s chest, limp like a puppet whose strings have been cut.

“Breakfast?” Geralt offers.

Jaskier nods. 

“Breakfast.”

\---

To stave off Jaskier’s impending death by hypothermia, they decide to eat in front of the fire. When Jaskier looks more pink than blue, Geralt inquires after the particular reason for his early morning training session.

“I read a letter I’ve been putting off reading.” Jaskier explains around a mouthful of bread.

“Considering the content wasn’t worth the paper it was written on, I wanted to use it for something practical. Like a target.”

Apparently he doesn’t feel like sharing more. Geralt is not satisfied.

“Jaskier.”

“Geralt?” He asks innocently.

“ _Jaskier._ ”

Jaskier huffs.

“Oh, eat an entire bowl of dick, you hypocritical pillock. I have to carefully prod you over months if not decades to finally get you to talk about your host of issues, but I’m supposed to spill just because you’re making cow eyes?”

Jaskier huddles down in his blanket until only his nose and tufts of brown hair with first streaks of gray are visible.

“I will tell B.B. that you stole his key to the wine cellar.”

“I didn’t steal it. I just borrowed it to make a copy.”

Geralt hums.

“I will tell Ciri you’re upset.” 

Jaskier swears, calls him a snitch and spills.

Half an hour later Geralt has added another name to his (surprisingly short, actually) list of people to murder if convenient and Jaskier looks less angry and more sad.

“So, you’re invited to teach the summer semester at Oxenfurt, which is a great honor.” Geralt repeats thoughtfully.

Jaskier nods.

“Except it’s not, because the invitation is from your ex, who ruined your reputation in Oxenfurt after you were over and makes your life hell every chance he gets. Your ex who’s also now head of the department of fine arts.”

Jaskier grunts and glowers at nothing in particular.

“The same ex you tried to kill by djinn?”

“Fucking _Marx_.” Jaskier spits the word out like he would a sip of corked wine.

“So he’s just rubbing it in, that you won’t set foot in Oxenfurt even if invited, because he’s there?”

“That’s exactly what he’s doing, the rat bastard son of a bog witch with a cheese grater for a voice.” Jaskier snarls and pokes the embers violently.

Geralt watches him stab the fireplace for a moment.

“So when are we leaving?”

\---

“Oh, no. We will do no such thing! What part of ‘this asshole uses every opportunity to cause me misery’ implies that I should take a faculty position with him as dean?”

Geralt, the stubborn bastard, doesn’t even look up from where he’s methodically arranging things in his travel pack. 

“Jaskier. You used to spy for Redania. You robbed a Novigradian mafia boss and got away with it. You regularly get into pissing contests with Yennefer of Vengerberg and live to see another day. You kept following me after I quite literally punched you in the dick. And you’re honestly telling me you’re afraid of that little shit?”

Very well, so perhaps most of that is true. All of it actually. 

“But that doesn’t mean-” Oh, damn it all to hell, he’s right.

Finding himself lost for words, Jaskier grabs a pillow from Geralt’s bed and chucks it at his head. He doesn’t even flinch.

Jaskier turns on his heel, stomps up the stairs to (his) the guest room and starts packing.

They leave the same day.


	2. Chapter 2

Of course Geralt sends a letter to Ciri the first chance he gets, telling her all about Jaskier being upset and who exactly is to blame for that.

Her reply reaches them two cities later. 

Darling girl that she is, she gently reminds him he only needs to ask if he needs someone to simply not wake up one ordinary morning. 

(They’ve raised her well.)

Of course Jaskier pilfers the letter out of his pack mere hours later and proceeds to determinately sulk all the way to Cintra and then some for good measures. 

His mood finally lifts once they make their way into Velen of all places. Shithole of a swamp that place is, but it does have a certain charm, all frozen over and glittering in the sun.

They are almost immediately politely kidnapped by a troupe of formerly Temerian soldiers, now in shiny, new armour bearing both the Black Sun and the Lilies. It is the Bloody Baron that greets them at Crow’s Perch.

Geralt hadn’t heard anything of the Strenger family since leaving for Novigrad on his hunt for Ciri three years ago.

“It’s _Baron S_ _trenger_ now, no more Bloody Baron. It sure has it perks, when the half-dead lass you take in for a couple of days ascends the fucking throne of the Black Sun.”

Crow’s Perch is flourishing. Geralt counts six newly built houses on their way up to the keep. The gravel road has been patched up and neat sewage trenches have been dug to keep the village clean. The keep itself looks freshly renovated as well.

To Geralt’s immense delight and Jaskier’s whoop of joy - who’s of course gotten the entire sad story out of him in record time after all was said and done - Anna Strenger waves at them from the gate of the keep, heavily leaning on her daughter. 

Wordlessly Geralt reaches over and clasps Strenger on the shoulder. Strenger smiles watery. 

“I did not deserve such a miracle.”

Geralt wouldn’t have bet on Strenger’s wife ever making any meaningful recovery from her time at the mercy of the Crones, but here she is. Walking, talking, kissing her daughter’s hair. 

“No, you didn’t,” Geralt agrees. “But they did.” 

“She sleeps a lot. And sometimes she drops to the floor in horrible convulsions,” Tamara tells him later in a quiet corner, while Jaskier is about to win what’s probably the entire keep from Strenger in Gwent. “But we have her back. It’s not enough for me to forgive father, but I can tolerate him nowadays. It helps that he’s stopped drinking to oblivion.”

Tamara escorts them all the way to Oxenfurt the next day, bidding them farewell at the gates.

Their stay at Crow’s Perch has Jaskier in high spirits. They have left Roach and Jaskier’s gelding, Rosalind, in the tender care of the stable near the city gates and Jaskier walks into Oxenfurt with a spring in his step. 

\---

The most important principle of warfare is:

“Act and let the enemy do the reacting. Not the other way around.”

At least that’s what Jaskier remembers it to be. 

Could have been something like:

“Never try to conquer the North during winter.” 

Or:

“You can bring twelve trebuchets or you can bring a mage. Figure out for yourself what’s more of a hassle.”

The point is, he’s not going to arrive at Oxenfurt and walz straight into Valdo Marx’ office. 

He’s going to use what precious little time he has until word of their presence reaches Marx to do some good old-fashioned scheming. 

Knowing Geralt, he’s planning to do much of the same thing and they part ways not far into Oxenfurt.

Essi Daven is a force to be reckoned with and fortunately both the Head of the Faculty for Music and a dear friend. In other words, a perfect source of information. 

If only he knew where to find her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't resist turning this into a fix-it for the Bloody Baron storyline in Wild Hunt. Sue me. 
> 
> I'm really pumped for this. I have an outline, with some actually useful plot, Geralt and Jas almost write themselves, I'm having lots of momentum. 
> 
> And I swear the chapters are going to get longer, don't worry. I'll probably combine a bunch of them once I'm done, but right now, I'm glad I'm updating regularly. This is very much a work in progress.
> 
> Toss a comment to your writer?


	3. Chapter 3

Geralt finds Shani where they parted when he last saw her. 

The Yellow Ox, uncreatively named after the University’s emblem, is a student dive, if there ever was one. It’s also the Department of Medicine’s usual watering hole. It’s not yet two in the afternoon, but Shani looks like she needs the ale she’s nursing. Her short red and gray hair looks like she’s been running her hands through it in frustration, sticking up in odd shapes.

She’s sitting in her usual spot, where he’s seen her surrounded by droves of adoring students, but the glare she’s sprouting today seems to have scared everyone away. 

Geralt slides into the seat across from her and takes a long drink from her pint.

“It’s too early for a young lady like you to be drinking.”

“I’m pushing fifty, you yellow-eyed fuck.” she replies without any heat and waves the server over, who deposits a fresh beer in front of them. When Geralt reaches for it, she slaps his hand away.

“You can keep the one that has all of your germs now, I’m taking this one, thank you very much.”

“Long day teaching idiots?”

She snorts.

“The students are the least of my problems, it’s the politicking I could do without.”

Geralt smiles.

“Ah, congratulations are in order, I forgot. How do you like your deanship?”

Shani had been appointed to Dean of the Department of Medicine not yet two years ago.

“I wish I could shove said deanship up my predecessor’s ass sideways. Alas, he’s dead and desecration of a corpse is shit reason to get arrested for. It’s too many senseless meetings with senseless people, too little actual work.”

Finally she graces him with a smile. It lights her hazel eyes and Geralt suddenly remembers why they used to fuck now and then, when they were younger.

“I really am glad to see you, Geralt. It’s been too long.”

She raises her glass and he clinks his against hers.

“Enough of the misery that is my work. What brings you to Oxenfurt? Do you know how long you’ll be staying?”

“On the contrary, tell me more. I’ve taken an  _ interest  _ in one of your colleagues. I’m staying for the semester or until that problem is resolved.”

Shani grins at him like the Godling that got the cream.

“I pity the fool that managed to piss you off. Please tell me you’re talking about that weasel Marx!”

“Unless you got two Marxes teaching at your distinguished institution?”

Shani lets out a whoop of sheer delight.

“Whatever you’re planning, as long as it’s going to get him his ass kicked, I want in!”

“I knew I could count on you, Shani, but why so violent? I remember something about a healer’s oath you once took?”

“First of all, as long as I’m not the one doing the asskicking, I’m not breaking any oaths. Secondly, thanks to his appointment the faction of blockheaded nitwits now has majority in the Counsel of Deans. Gods help us all, until one of them steps down or kicks the bucket and somebody sensible gets appointed in their place! They’re going to start enforcing the sodomy laws next, if they keep at this nonesense!”

She drinks and wipes the foam off her lip with the back of her hand.

“They might just ban the postmortem section again! It’s ridiculous! Blatantly directing budget away from our departments and towards theirs! And Marx is the worst! Playing devil’s advocate, egging them on, drawing out meetings until the late hours of the morning!”

She gives Geralt a withering look.

“I swear, my friend, if not for that oath, he would have been found floating in the harbour already.”

She breaks off and takes a few calming breaths.

“I shouldn’t let him get to me like that, but- The Academy is very dear to me and I can’t- I can’t just watch someone try and bloody well ruin it… What’d he do to get on your bad side, actually?”

Before Geralt can answer, two lutes start playing in a duet over on the rickety stage of the tavern.

\---

Turns out Jaskier only had to follow the music. 

The Fine Arts Building is as deserted during semester break as it used to be when he was still a student here. 

He can hear Essi as soon as he steps foot through the door of these hallowed halls. 

Ah, the memories. His first ballad that was actually worthy of being played before an audience. Sneaking into the building at night for a tryst or another. Climbing out the window in the attic and onto the roof to write in peace. Snogging Valdo on the ro-  _ No, wait, bad. _

He cringes and rubs at his temples to chase away the thoughts like unruly children, shoo!

So mayhaps it was nice while it lasted. Mayhaps he was a little in love. Rivalry turned to fascination turned to adoration, at least for him it was like that. But then again, he’s a gentle soul, trusting, naive really. He’s always refused to think of those traits as a weakness. 

So maybe he’s gotten his heart broken on a couple (dozen) occasions, maybe lovers have turned against him before. (Sometimes they didn’t even have the decency to give him the bliss of blossoming romance, before he went and told him all was Jaskier’s fault, why is it always Jaskier’s fault, Jaskier only meant well, only ever wanted good things for his-)

Oh, enough with the wallowing. He’s not alone now, he’s got his dearest friend ready to beat some manners into Marx. Or maybe toss him out a window if he gets too insufferable. Yes, that’s a fine idea, he should tell Geralt about that.

And he, too, isn’t a sweet lad of 19 years anymore, as Geralt so kindly reminded him. He’s seen all kinds of trouble and come out the other hands with little more than a scratch here or there.

“Essi, sweetest voice on the continent! Sister in all the ways that matter!” he yells once he’s snuck up behind where she’s sitting in an abandoned classroom and composing.

She shrieks in fear, then delight, sets her lute down carefully and wraps him in a bone crushing hug.

“Jaskier!”

It is only natural to celebrate their reunion with an impromptu concerto. He’s never passed on a chance to play with a fellow musician he actually harmonises with. (Effortlessly, that is. He harmonises with anyone he wishes to harmonise with.)

They don’t even have to talk about what tavern they will grace with their performance. 

“Jaskier, dearest, are you bathing in virgin blood nowadays? Tell a girl the secret of how you keep away those wrinkles, would you?” she asks on their way to The Ox. 

“My darling, you shouldn’t compliment me so, I’m already vain enough for two. There’s this talented lady just outside of Vizima…”

The Ox is just as he remembers it. Maybe a little more grime, actually, but that only adds to the charm, really. The innkeeper looks like yule came early, when she spots the two of them with their lutes on their backs. She ushers them over to the little stage excitedly. 

To stand on those familiar boards again, right here the journey to Oxenfurt has paid off plentiful. Then there’s the rush of music and for maybe half an hour, there is only he, his lute, and Essi. 

Performing for a night in a backwater inn, dancing between and jumping on tables, fluttering his lashes at wives and daughter, he adores that, it’s in his blood, he’s a showman and nothing but a showman when it comes down to it. But, now and then, he enjoys giving a real concert. Don’t worry about pesky little things like the audience or entertaining. Just let your hands fly over your lute, let your voice do what it pleases, pull whoever is playing alongside you with you into the current, until all there is, is music. 

After a couple of songs, it might be Essi, it might be him who launches into Toss a Coin.

The sound of metal hitting wood pulls him out of his rapture. 

Across the room sits his muse, being showered in gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *talks about having so much momentum in the chapter notes*  
> *doesn't update for months* ._.
> 
> Toss a comment to your writer, anyway?
> 
> In my defense, I couldn't write chapters in order if you put a gun to my head. So there's also a lot of stuff already written (not just for this, but I have loads planned for you :)), it just happened not to be the third chapter until now.  
> How'd you like Jaskier's voice btw? I can't tell if he's in character anymore. My headcanon Jaskier has ADHD btw, but I kinda just end up writing my own stream of bullshit, uh, consciousness anyway. Feedback is very appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

Now, the sensation of coins to the face (and various other body parts for that matter) isn’t exactly a new one for Geralt, not after how ever many decades of knowing Jaskier. It’s just not quite that enthusiastic usually. 

Perhaps it’s because this is the town where Jaskier went to university or maybe he’s just risen to new musical heights.

Finally the song fades and the patrons go back to minding their own damn business. 

He’s grown rather accustomed to unwillingly sharing the center of attention with Jaskier during his performances and the urge to go hide under a table has lessened over the years. But he’s sure glad it’s over now. 

He steadfastly ignores the weighty look he receives from Shani, who seems like she can’t quite decide between schadenfreude and curiosity.

“Care to explain that?”

“Not really, thank you very much.”

He’s only just finished picking up most of Jaskier’s spoils, when the man himself comes bounding over to their table, a petite, dark-haired woman in tow.

He falls into the seat next to Geralt, still flushed and out of breath from performing, while the woman greets Shani and settles on the bench next to her. 

After emptying half of Geralt’s ale, Jaskier proudly eyes the small mountain of silver and gold in front of them and roughly divides the pile into two, shoving one half across the table towards his companion.

“Now, this is what I call a successful performance.”

“It was certainly impressive.” Shani remarks, scrutinizing them openly.

“Why thank you, Madame, or may I call you a new friend already? You see, I generally consider a friend of Geralt a friend of my own.”

“You may and you may also call me Shani, I am the Dean of Medicine.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Shani.” Jaskier says, showing off his most charming smile. “That reminds me, Geralt, this is Essi, a very dear friend and my new colleague at the department for music. Very talented young lady-” 

“Jaskier, you fool, last time I checked we’re both getting old as shite-” 

“-A skillful lutist, with a voice as beautiful and clear as a mountain lake.” Grinning he leans over to wrap an arm around Geralt’s shoulder.

“And this, Essi, is my, my-” he hesitates briefly, tripping over his words. “Geralt, this is Geralt.”

“Your Geralt, am I now?” he can’t help himself asking.

“Are you objecting? ” Jaskier smiles at him. “Not that I haven’t known other Geralts, you see, there was a blacksmith in Vizima, a valet at the court of Kovir, too, I think. I could start singing about the feats of Geralt, the valorous goat herder of the Blue Mountains, if you’re that bothered about being associated with me?”

“Looking to replace me, bard?”

Jaskier sighed theatrically.

“Oh if only I could, I would have decades ago! Much less trouble, certainly. Yet to my weak nerves’ detriment, you’re rather irreplaceable. As a source of musical inspiration that is.”

Across the table Essi coughs, choking on a sip of wine. Shani pounds her on the back without taking her eyes off Geralt and Jaskier.

“My, my, Geralt, you’ve been holding out on me. How come you’ve never brought  _ your _ bard around for a visit?”

Essi snickers, having recovered from her fit. “Exactly, Jaskier, I’m positively hurt you’ve never introduced me to  _ your  _ Geralt until now. The two of you are as entertaining as you are endearing.”

Endearing? Oh, they must have misinterpreted their bickering. Geralt and Jaskier are not, they’re not  _ like that.  _ It’s just, when your friendship is as old and, for lack of a better word, intimate as his and Jaskier’s is, occasionally people will misread the nature of their connection. It happens now and then, but Geralt always takes care to correct any false interpretations before they turn into rumours. 

It wouldn’t do for one of Jaskier’s many conquests to flee in fear of a jealous witcher. 

Before he can speak up, a man in his sixties perhaps, sprouting a full head of gray curls, slides into the seat next to Jaskier and kisses his cheek in greeting.

“Julian, darling! It’s been too long!”

Jaskier smiles brightly and clasps a hand on the man's shoulder in familiarity, but Geralt can smell the sour unease wafting off of him. 

“It really has, Valdo.”

\---

Of course. Trust the bastard to find them after less than two hours in the city. 

Shit, he looks good. Couldn’t he have aged badly? If life was fair, Valdo would be bald and pot-bellied and as wrinkly as an elephant’s arse, but alas, he doesn’t even have any laughter lines.

“I’m so glad you accepted my invitation,” Marx gushes. “I worried you wouldn’t feel up to it. After all those eventful couple of years you’ve had.”

Jaskier more feels than sees Geralt get up, gather the empty glasses and leave, ostensibly in search of more alcohol. How observant of him. Jaskier desperately needs more drink to get through this conversation.

“You shouldn’t have troubled yourself on my account, my friend. What’s a little bit of helping the rightful Empress on her way to the throne? You know what they say about children, keeping you young and all. What about you, ever the bachelor I heard?”

Valdo laughs, baring his teeth for a little too long.

“I don’t kiss and tell, you should know that, shouldn’t you?”

Well, Marx doesn’t kiss and tell  _ the truth _ , but Jaskier can’t say that without things devolving into open warfare and sadly Valdo still holds the upper ground in that regard. And as much as he’d love to slap the lying shithead silly right here and right now, he’d only get himself arrested and then Geralt would have to go bail him out and then he would never shut up about it. Thus no slapping Marx. 

Thankfully, Shani chimes in from across the table:

“Oh, be real, Valdo. Nobody to kiss and yap about, is there? And not for lack of trying. Chasing after student, last that I heard.”

Marx waves his hand dismissively.

“Ach, rumours. About as believable as the tale about you stealing the dead out of their graves for merry little experiments. Or darling Julian over here stealing other artists’ work, right?”

Melitele give him strength! Is he trying to provoke Jaskier into violence? 

Actually, that could be his strategy. Why else would he go around mentioning the hoax he himself came up with. 

Essi’s grin looks rather forced. 

“I’m more inclined to believe the one about you than that Jaskier would engage in plagiarism. As ludicrous as the thought of you flirting with students is, he really doesn’t need to bother with something like that. Why steal, when your own work is superior to most off the drivel out there?”

Oh, he loves her. But she needs to be careful. She teaches at the department Marx heads, he’s most literally her boss. Below the table Jaskier knocks his foot against Essi’s in warning.

“Of course, of course, Madam Daven. Nothing more than a joke.” Marx says, reaching over to pat Essi’s hand resting on the table.

Before the conversation can delve into dangerous territory once more, Geralt returns and places a bottle of Erveluce before them.

“A reunion of old friends calls for a toast, don’t you think?” he asks Marx. His pearly canines glint in the dim light. Jaskier loves it, when he does that. Pulling an aura of ‘Don’t cross the scary witcher!” around himself as fast and as easy as Jaskier does his dressing gown. Six feet and then some of white hair, sharp features and sharper teeth loom over the table and Marx stills for a moment.

“A fine idea! I don’t think we’ve been introduced yet?”

“Geralt.” Geralt says and pulls over a wayward chair to sit catty-corner to Marx and Essi.

“Of Rivia, I presume?” Geralt nods, still smiling with more teeth than necessary.

“Pleasure. I’m Valdo Marx.”

“I know.” Geralt says and finally turns his attention to the bottles of ridiculously expensive (He’s spoiling Jaskier!) wine, he procured. He pulls the cork from the bottle with his thumb and index finger and Jaskier thinks he actually hears Marx swallow drily.

Once all five of them are holding a glass of the extravagant wine, Geralt inclines his head towards Marx.

“You invited him, you should make the toast.”

“Of course.” He clears his throat. “To our Julian’s return to the Academy!” he proclaims and ‘To Jaskier’ echoes around the table.

Jaskier is still enjoying the tart aftertaste of the wine when Marx does what he does best: Ruin good things. He leans over to Jaskier and says in a low voice:

“I must be truthful with you, Julian dear. I think it’s wonderfully brave of you to return to Oxenfurt all willy-nilly. Considering the circumstances in which you left so long ago.”

Jaskier tenses.

“You know as well as I do, that the case was dropped only weeks after I left.”

Marx smiles and it’s probably supposed to look benevolent, but up close it’s nothing short of malicious.

“Naturally, but who really cares for cases being dropped? Accusations of academic misconduct are so much more interesting when they’re made rather than when they’re withdrawn. And fleeing the Academy without as much as a degree to your name, only to return to teach? That takes quite some… tenacity.”

“Well, he returns victorious, does he not? Even I’ve heard of how he’s been awarded a mastery of the seven arts by the Imperial Academy. With honors and all the trimmings.” Shani says cooly. 

“Oh, indeed. He has all the qualifications one needs for teaching or I would have never invited him. It’s just… One wanders the continent for decades without a finished education and as soon as one’s mentee ascends the Throne of Nilfgaard and the North, one suddenly receives a degree? It’s all rather coincidental to me.”

That. That does indeed not look good for Jaskier, when he puts it like that. Not good at all. 

Maybe this was a mistake after all. He busies himself with another sip of Erveluce.

Again Shani saves him.

“As absolutely fascinating as I find your train of thought, I would choose my words more carefully. Out of all of the men in this fine establishment, Jaskier is the last you would want to insult. If you know what I’m implying.” She throws one very pointed look in Geralt’s direction.

And now that Jaskier is looking over at him, he really does look like he’s about to eat Marx for breakfast.

“I agree.” Geralt rumbles.

“Are you threatening me?” Marx asks with only a little fear in his voice. “I’ll let you know Oxenfurt has a very dedicated town guard. They won’t tolerate violence.”

Essi chuckles. 

“You really should brush up your law. They most certainly would tolerate it in this specific circumstance.”

Oh. Oooooh. Oh-ho-ho-ho! Smart Essi! Smart Shani! This is brilliant! This is delightful!

Marx whips around to Jaskier, suddenly pale.

“Is that true?” he asks.

“Why don’t you take an educated guess,  _ dear Valdo _ .”

Silence. Then:

“I apologize for what I said. I didn’t mean to insult.” Marx says meekly.

“Your apology is of course accepted. No harm done.”

Marx gets up abruptly.

“I really should be going, anyway.” He fishes a small key out of his breast pocket and tosses it on the table. 

“Your accommodations. Professors’ quarters by the rose garden, top floor. Enjoy. And welcome back to Oxenfurt, Julian.”

“Bye, Valdo!” Jaskier yells after him cheerfully, but he’s already gone.

This is marvelous, magnificent, miraculous! He’s got Marx by the balls now. Why ever did he not come up with this himself?

Ah, yes. Geralt looks supremely confused. That’s why. Jaskier hasn’t the slightest on how to explain the intricacies of Redanian Duelling Law to his friend without scaring him back to Toussaint. Or Kaer Morhen. Or off the continent altogether.

There’s no way in hell Geralt is going to go along with this. Not even if he gets to legally beat Marx bloody to defend Jaskier’s honour as long everyone thinks they’re a couple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise fake relationship shenanigans and I deliver it.  
> For whatever reason this and the last chapter where hard af to write. But it's good and over now and y'all get to enjoy semi-regular updates from now on.
> 
> Also Shani takes no shit and no prisoners and I love her.
> 
> Toss a comment to your writer?


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